


TOW Ross's New Girlfriend Isn't The Most Important Thing

by hoppa12345



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29599245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppa12345/pseuds/hoppa12345
Summary: Set during 2.01 TOW Ross's New Girlfriend. Mild spoilers for that episode. New chapter every week. Trigger warning: mentions of rape, rated for that. COMPLETE
Relationships: Chandler Bing/Monica Geller
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

"How long do you want the cuffs?"

"At least as long as I have the pants," Chandler joked, smirking.

There was a pause followed by a chuckle. "I just got that! Okay, now we'll do your inseam."

Chandler nodded, feeling his stomach rumble. _Man, I could really go for a pizza right now,_ he thought hungrily. His mouth watered. _Maybe Hawaiian? Or Meatlovers? Or-_

His thoughts halted abruptly. _What the hell was that?_ He glanced down. Frankie was... _cupping_ his genitalia. _What. The. Hell._ Chandler moved backwards. "Um..." he said.

Frankie looked up. "Problem?" he asked, smiling in what Chandler might have interpreted to be a kind way had he not just been... _fondled_... by the man.

"Um, well, I... I... um... I have somewhere to be. Sorry."

He walked quickly towards the door, but found it bolted in place. He spun around, letting out a nervous laugh. "Hey, Frankie? Door's locked."

Frankie smiled but otherwise didn't respond. Chandler had his back pressed against the door. He didn't feel safe.

Frankie advanced towards him. "How would you like to... have some fun?" he asked softly.

Chandler's eyes widened briefly and he quickly shook his head. "I'm, arhh, not really a 'fun' kinda guy. Yep, that's me. Boringest guy on the planet. Definitely don't like fun. Anyway, I'm really gonna be late, so..."

Frankie grinned wolfishly and Chandler felt his stomach flip. He certainly wasn't hungry now. Frankie undid his belt and came closer.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

"Look, Rach, I've been with my share of women. In fact," Joey added, grinning, "I've been with a lot of people's share of women." He paused and Rachel waited patiently for him to get back to the point. After a moment he shook his head, as if to scatter those thoughts. "Look, all I'm saying is, I've never felt about anyone the way Ross felt about you."

"Really?" Rachel's eyes were watering now.

"Well... do you really think I should talk to him then, Joe?"

Joey squeezed her hand. "I really do," he said firmly.

"Okay, then I'll-" she broke off as Ross came back out of the bedroom.

"You'll what?" he asked, completely oblivious to the content of their conversation.

"Hey, how'd it go in there?" Joey asked quickly, and Rachel shot him a grateful glance. If Ross noticed, he didn't comment.

"Not too good," he said, pretending to be grave. "She's in dire state. Her hair could be on its deathbed. It's looking like she's going to have to..." he paused, swallowed, looked around and lowered his voice to a whisper. "... _get a wig_."

"Oh!" Joey gasped, hand over his mouth. "That's terrible!"

Rachel smiled at Ross, thinking that he had a great sense of humour and wondering how she'd never managed to look at him this way before in all the years they'd known each other.

"Hey, guys," Phoebe called, yanking Rachel from her thoughts. "Monica's coming out now."

Everyone turned to watch. The brunette walked out of her room with her head down, clearly embarrassed. They all stared at her in shock for a moment. She looked like a boy!

"Hey, it looks great, Mon!" Ross said quickly, and the silence was broken as the others all enthusiastically joined in.

But Monica wasn't fooled. "I look hideous," she sobbed, and Rachel got up and wrapped her arms around her.

"Oh, honey, it'll grow back out."

Monica sniffed, nodding. She looked around and said, "I don't hear any mocking jokes. Where's Chandler?"

"Getting a suit fitted," Joey told her, then looked at the clock. "Hey, it's 4," he said, confused.

Ross laughed. "Yeah, Joe, it is. What's so confusing about that?"

"Chandler shoulda been back by now. It doesn't take 5 hours to fit a suit!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chandler couldn't believe that had just happened. _What. The. Hell._ He squeezed his eyes closed. Maybe he could make it go away. Maybe it was all just one big, terrible nightmare. He opened his eyes. Nope, it was real. He was still sitting in his closet, his knees bunched up against his chest and his head in between them to quell his rising nausea, with all the lockable doors between him and the hall locked - so that was, the front door. He wished his bedroom and closet doors locked as well, but deep down he knew it wouldn't be enough to make him feel safe again. Nothing would ever be enough. He shook when he thought of what that, that... that _bastard_... had done to him. Which meant he was shivering violently and at a fairly constant rate, too, because it was all he could think about.

He tensed. He could smell him. Goddammit, he _could_. He let out an involuntary wail. He was so afraid. What if he came back and did it again? He had tears cascading down his cheeks that he was barely even aware of. His whole world was just one big haze, and all he could see, all he could smell, all he could taste, was him.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

"Okay, it's getting late, I should go," Ross said.

"Late?" Joey scoffed. "Dude, it's only eight o'clock. I've had dates start later than this!"

"That's 'cos Joey hunts in the night," Rachel teased.

"Yeah he does!" Joey said, grinning mischeviously. Suddenly his face fell. "Crap!"

"What is it?" Phoebe asked, sounding concerned.

"I actually do have a date tonight. Damn it! It was at seven! Argh, she's gonna think I don't wanna sleep with her..." Joey jumped up, grabbed his coat and started to race out the door.

"Wait up, Joe, I'll go down with you! Got a bit of Julie-lovin to do," he added, winking at the girls before slamming the door behind him.

"Arrrr-rrghhhh..." Rachel groaned when she was sure he was gone. "Doesn't Ross realised how lame he sounds? ' _Julie lovin_ '," she mimicked. "'I'm going to have sex with Julie. I'm going to go on a date with Julie. I'm going to buy flowers for _Julie_.' Julie, Julie, _Julie_!" She slammed her hand down on the living room table.

"Oh, hey, it's okay," Phoebe said. "She won't last long. I mean, Ross'll have her married and divorced by the end of the summer for sure!" She chuckled at her joke, but Rachel wasn't in the mood.

"But he loves her," she said sadly.

"Yeah. Well... hey! I have an idea! Why don't we all go see a movie? Y'know, to cheer you up. I've heard there's this really great one showing with loads of hot guys..."

"Let's do it!" Rachel said, snapping out of her bad mood.

"Gu-uys," Monica protested. "I can't go looking like this!"

The other two hesitated. "Sure you can, Mon, you look great," Rachel said weakly. Monica gave her a look. "Okay, well we won't go if you can't come with us," Rachel said.

"No, don't stay here just because of me!" Monica said. "I'd feel bad! Go to the movie, I've got heaps of cleaning to catch up on anyway."

Rachel eyed her doubtfully. "If you're sure..."

"Go," Monica insisted. "I'm fine. I need a bit of alone time to process this new... lifestyle change."

Phoebe looked down. "I'm really sorry, Mon."

"It's alright. Now go enjoy that movie!"

"Okay, see you later!"

Monica smiled at them as they walked out the door before letting her face fall and sliding down the back of the couch. She hated this new hairstyle.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

Chandler was exhausted. He felt like he'd been awake for hours and all he wanted to do was slip into the comforting oblivion he had once known as sleep. At least there he wouldn't be plagued by jolts of adrenalin every few minutes, jolts that sent chills down his spine and made all the hairs on his body stand on end. But he couldn't go to sleep. He just couldn't. What if he came back?

Chandler blinked and suddenly he was back there again, reliving it for what felt like the millionth time, all the little details rushing back. He drew in his breath sharply as he again heard the last words anyone had spoken to him before his life as he knew it was ripped away.

_"You reject my treatment? You pay the price."_

Suddenly the musty smell was smothering, and he couldn't breathe, _oh God-_

He slowly became aware of an awful sound, and it took him a while to realise it was him, and he was screaming, and he couldn't stop.

Chandler heard a knock on the door. More panic shot through him, and it was paralysing. _It's him. He's come back to finish what he started._


	3. Chapter 3

Monica was on her feet in an instant, heart pounding in her chest. She could hear a constant, blood-curdling screaming, and it sounded like it was coming from across the hall. She hesitated for only a moment before lurching for the phone and dialling 911. "Hello? Yes, police please... I can hear screaming coming from the apartment across the hall. I think someone is attacking my friend..."

"Address?" the voice on the other end asked, and she gave it to him, sounding, miraculously, calmer than she felt.

She grabbed a heavy metal cooking pan that would hurt if it was slammed into bone and headed across the hall. She didn't feel safe, but she knew that the police were coming and she couldn't cope with not knowing whether whoever it was was okay or not, especially seeing that, in all likelihood, the victim was one of her best friends. She twisted the knob and entered slowly, carefully, but the apartment was empty. The God-awful sound was coming from Chandler's room.

She went over to the door and knocked softly, which only served to intensify the screaming and, now that she was closer and could hear better, the sobbing. She burst through the door. "Get away from my friend!" she screamed, ready to revert to the Karate Girl she had been in her early childhood, before she'd properly discovered the joys of eating. But again, the room was empty. The screaming had stopped, but she could still hear muffled sobs.

She went to the closet door and opened it slowly. "Oh my God... Chandler..." She dropped the pan instantly and bent down. He looked at her with blank eyes, seemingly staring right through her. He didn't appear to recognise her, which was possibly the most ridiculous and scarily accurate thought she had ever had. "What happened? Oh my God," she said again. "Your pants. They're... they're covered in blood." She gulped. "Chandler?" She reached over to rest a hand on his shoulder.

" _Get away_!" he screamed as soon as she touched him, utterly terrified. " _Get away from me!_ "

Monica leaped back, startled. "Chandler, it's me, Monica! Chandler, what's wrong? Chandler!"

Chandler shook his head mutely, horrified. How could words describe what he'd gone through?

"Chandler, whatever happened, it's going to be okay. The police are coming, alright? You can tell them everything."

That snapped him out of his stupor. He launched himself forward, grabbing onto her. "No!" he sobbed. "No, I don't want to talk to them. Get them away! Tell them to leave me alone! I can't talk to them. I can't talk to them! I _can't_ -"

"Okay, I'll call them, it's okay, shh, it's okay," she said soothingly, trying to calm her hysterical friend. He was clinging to her now and she slowly ran her hand up and down his back. The lower her hand got, the more tense he became, and she frowned, moving her hand back up. He relaxed slightly. She moved her hand down to the small of his back again, more quickly this time. He jerked away. "No!" he whimpered. "No, no, no no no no _no_!"

"Hey, honey, it's okay," she soothed, moving towards him. He backed away, sliding back down into the closet, bunching up his knees and locking his arms protectively around them.

" _Don't touch me!_ "

"Okay, not touching, staying here. I'll go call the police back, okay?"

"No! Don't leave me... he might... come back for me..."

Monica stared at him, shocked beyond words as the last pieces finally fell into place, confirming her suspicions. _He needs you to be strong,_ she reminded herself after a moment, and that was enough for her to regain her composure, albeit with some effort. "Okay," she said calmly. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm just going to get your phone, and lock the front door so you feel safer. Okay?"

He nodded and mumbled, almost inaudibly, "Okay."

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

Monica paced around the living room. "I'm telling you, you need to tell the police not to come. My friend's fine. He was just... um... having some particularly kinky sex."

 _Not that far from the truth,_ she thought darkly.

"Okay, if you say so..." the man sounded doubtful.

"Thanks," she said, relieved. "But, um, just out of interest... what should I do if ever... if ever one of my friends gets ..." she broke off. She couldn't say it. It couldn't really have happened, not to someone she knew, not to Chandler.

"Gets...?"

"Um, never mind. Thanks for all your help," she said, too brightly, before abruptly hanging up the phone.

She put her head in her hands, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache coming on. And if she felt like this now, she couldn't even _imagine_ what poor Chandler was going through.

_Oh God, what should I do?_


	4. Chapter 4

He could feel his hot, stinking breath on the side of his neck and he shuddered involuntarily. "Get away," he croaked weakly. "Get away. Get away get away get away get away! _Get aw_ -" his voice cracked and he broke down into sobs. Monica practically ran through the door.

"Hey, he's not here now. I am, and I'll keep you safe, I promise," she said comfortingly. He was now curled up in his bed, wrapped tightly in the covers, forehead slick with a sheen of sweat. He was still in those blood-soaked pants. He wouldn't let her, or anyone else, for that matter, anywhere near them. It just felt so wrong. Every time anything brushed against them he was ripped into vivid flashbacks.

"Wh-wh-wh..."

"Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh..." Monica murmured.

"N-no, what if, what if he comes in through the, through the window?"

"He won't," she promised.

"You, you can't k-know that."

"I'll lock them. And I'll get you a cold facewasher."

He watched her as she locked the windows. "Mon?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"W-why are you doing this? Don't you hate me now?"

She turned to look at him, and the look on her face was one of a person taken completely and utterly by surprise. "What? No, of course I don't. Why would you think such a thing?"

"Well, I..." he looked down, tears leaking out again. If she didn't already hate him, she would when he told her. He couldn't tell her. He _couldn't_ , he _wouldn't_ , he-

"Chandler, look at me," Monica murmured. "You can tell me anything. It's okay. You're one of my best friends. I'm going to love you no matter what."

He shook his head and said haltingly, "Not after this." He took a deep breath. "It... it's my fault. He told me so. If I didn't want this, it wouldn't have happened. I must have wanted it on some level. I must have, Mon, I _must_ have... or he wouldn't have... and I wouldn't be..."

She knelt beside him and kissed his sweat-soaked hair, lacing his fingers with hers. "Chandler, honey, you didn't want this. You most definitely didn't _deserve_ this, so don't you _dare_ think that. People like him, they... they say what they think will get you to comply with them, and what they think will get them off the hook later, scot-free. He said all that so you would feel guilty, so that you wouldn't tell anyone. I promise you, nothing you've ever done or ever could do would justify the actions of that, that sick _pig_."

Chandler nodded, not quite convinced, and squeezed his eyes shut as shame washed over him once more.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

Monica watched as her friend nodded and then closed his eyes, seemingly lost. She was struggling to keep her grief in. He was playing with her fingers, a welcome if brief distraction from his current pain. Monica would have been content for him to stay that way, but she felt like she was going to be sick at any moment and thought it best that her devastated friend didn't see the extent to which all this had affected her.

"I'm going to get you a facewasher," she mumbled, disentangling her fingers from those of her friend. Once out of his room, she practically ran to the bathroom. She reached the toilet just in time, heaving up her breakfast and watching miserably as it splattered across the bowl. She sat beside it, head in her hands, wondering how on earth anyone could do this to _Chandler_. Chandler, the greatest guy she had ever met and was likely to meet, Chandler Sense-of-Humour Bing, the Chandler who played innocent practical jokes and still laughed at the word "poopy". Not this. Never this. She couldn't believe it. She finally gave in and let the tears fall.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

Chandler needed a bath. He was still in those pants, and the scent of blood mixed with sweat was making him feel more nauseous than he already did, if that was even possible.

It had been two days since _it_ had happened, an agonising two days both for him and for Monica, he was sure. He felt irreparably broken and also incredibly guilty that Monica had to deal with that. He hadn't had to see any of the others yet, although he knew they all wanted to see him. He just couldn't face their pity. Monica had been sleeping on a mattress on his floor, as her presence was the only way he could get any sleep, and Joey was bunking with Rachel until Chandler felt better. He almost laughed at the absurdity. Joey should just move in with her if that was his plan; Chandler didn't think he would ever feel better.

He shifted agitatedly, throwing the covers away, only to scramble onto his knees and pull them back over himself at the sudden flash of panic that followed. Rationally he knew they didn't offer any real protection and that this pseudo-safety he felt when under them was entirely psychological. But everything rational had gone out the window when he'd been... no, the word was still too awful, even to think. He gagged as he got another wiff of the now caked-onto-his-pants blood-sweat mixture. If only he could make himself get up out of this bed. But he couldn't. The simple, absolutely terrifying truth was that he just. Didn't. Care anymore. There was no point - he'd feel just as dirty afterwards and nothing would change.

Another wave of panic crashed over him at that thought. He was getting used to these random attacks but this one was worse than any he'd experienced, even if he counted the earliest ones, the ones that had happened before he'd resigned himself to the constant, aching pain in his chest.

" _Monica_!" he screamed.

She burst in. "Chandler, it's okay," she said quickly, her opening words whenever he called her now.

"Can't... breathe..." he wheezed as more panic flared up, and he squeezed his eyes closed as terror welled up inside him.

Monica wrapped her arms around him tightly and he let her, surprising even himself. He could feel her slowly rocking him back and forth, murmuring soothingly.

But this one was really bad, and it wasn't working. He was hyperventilating now, and that made everything worse. "Mon..." he gasped.


	5. Chapter 5

This clearly wasn't working. _I need a brown paper bag,_ she thought wryly, but she knew that leaving him to get one, even if they were just a few steps away in the kitchen, was not an option.

Thinking quickly, Monica said, "You'll feel safer with your back to a wall. How would you feel about moving to the corner?"

Chandler nodded, his eyes portraying his desperation.

Monica grabbed him and pulled him up. He leaned on her heavily, still unable to catch his breath, as she lead him over to the far side of his room. He needed to be able to see the door. She gently pushed him down and went back to get his blankets, wrapping them around him so that only his eyes peeked out. She then knelt in front of him and wrapped her arms around him as best she could, what with all the blankets ensconcing him, hoping that all these layers between him and the world would instil in her friend a feeling of safety, of security. "Chandler, you need to breathe for me, okay?"

He shook his head, eyes terrified, still gasping in an attempt to catch his breath. "Can't."

"Yes, you can. I'll breathe with you, ready? Breathe in... breathe out... breathe in..."

Slowly he calmed. Monica's knees were getting sore, so Chandler changed positions so they could sit against the wall side by side. Chandler rested his head on her shoulder, exhausted, and Monica rested her head atop of his. She was exhausted, too. She hadn't been sleeping well, and Chandler's sleep was fitful, averaging only 2 hours before he jerked awake, panicked and not knowing where he was. He tried to be quiet and calm himself down but she usually woke up, always on the alert even as she slept.

She found his hand beneath the fabric of the blankets and laced her fingers with his.

The pain of seeing him like this hadn't dulled.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

"Sweetie, you need to eat something," Monica repeated with growing frustration. "Come on, Chandler, you just don't seem to get it. Don't you know what'll happen if you don't eat?"

"Well, eventually, I'll _starve_ ," he snapped, equally as frustrated. He was angry at her, for not understanding, and angry at _him_ , for doing this in the first place, but most of all he was furious with himself, because he couldn't just snap out of it, no matter how hard he tried. That stupid panic attack he'd had earlier in the day had all but proven that soul-destroying little fact. It was this seething anger at his own helplessness that caused him to say his next, ruthless words. "And you know what, Mon? I don't care. Right now, death is entirely welcome. It has to be better than this, right?"

There was a beat of shocked silence in which Chandler suddenly wished with a ferocity he hadn't known he could feel that he could take it back. He stared at his bedroom floor, willing a gaping hole to open up and swallow him.

"You want to die?" she whispered eventually, horrified.

He winced. She looked utterly devastated. His voice softened and he reached across to grab her hand. "No, I don't want to die," he said, and then added truthfully, knowing he owed her at least that, "I just... don't really want to live, either. Not like this."

She nodded, not meeting his eyes. "Even so, you need to eat," she said, and her voice didn't sound at all like Monica's. Chandler stared at her, trying to work it out, until she looked up, and he could see tear tracks on her face.

Suddenly he couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't bear the thought that she was upset because of him, that she was going through all this _because of him_. "Come here," he murmured, and pulled her towards him. He hugged her, and said quietly, "Okay, I'll eat something. But it had better be good, Monica-quality food!"

He heard her laugh a little. After a moment she mumbled against his chest, "You realise you're getting better?"

"Am I?" he asked absently, finding himself strangely unable to think about anything but how amazing her hair smelled.

"Yeah. _You're_ comforting _me_. That's _normal_."

"God," he sighed. "I could go for a bit of normal right now."

She kissed him on the cheek and stood up, smiling. "Well, if normal is what you want, then normal is what you'll get! How about mac and cheese with those little cut-up hotdogs you're so crazy about?"

His eyes lit up, and it was the most full of life she'd seen him in the last few days. That was all the answer she needed.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

Chandler was in a bad mood. Monica had run a bath for him, and he didn't want to have one. She seemed to think that since he'd agreed to eating one bowl of mac and cheese with little cup-up hotdogs, he'd agree to everything _else_ she thought he should do, too. Well, how wrong she was.

"Chandler, please," she was saying. "Just take a bath. It's been two days and you're still wearing those pants! If you won't have a bath, at least take them off and change into a fresh set of clothes. You'll feel so much better!"

"How would _you_ know?" he asked scathingly, arms crossed. "I'm happy in these pants. Why aren't you willing to just accept that?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Okay, Chandler, whatever you say." She turned to walk away, but Chandler wasn't having it. He was going to make her see, whether she liked it or not. He grabbed her arm and she turned back around.

"Mon, you don't seem to understand," he began slowly, drawing out each word like he was telling a pre-schooler that hitting other people is naughty. "I like these pants. They like me. Where's the problem? I genuinely don't see it."

Monica stuffed her hands in her pockets to stop herself from slugging him one in the guts right then and there. _He's been through enough without me turning on him._ "I said, it's fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Can I go now? I need to get some sleep, it's late."

Chandler glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's six o'clock," he said pointedly.

"Yeah, and I'm exhausted. Do _you_ have a problem with _that_?"

He shrugged. "Nope."

"Good."

She turned and stalked into his room. Once she was out of sight, he let his shoulders sag. He felt like crap. Why did he have to make this so difficult for them both? She was only trying to help. But something in him rebelled at the idea of someone else controlling him, just like _he_ had done. Chandler had felt so helpless then, so out of control, and he was determined never to feel like that again.

 _But what Mon is doing is not just like what_ he _did,_ Chandler reminded himself grimly. _She'd never take advantage of me like that. She's just trying to help._

Knowing he needed to explain himself to her and hating that need more and more with every moment, he followed her reluctantly into the bedroom.

"Mon?" he asked softly. "You awake?"

"Yeah," she murmured. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, a reflexive response, then hesitated before admitting, "Okay, everything."

She sat up, leaning against the wall, and he went to sit beside her, their shoulders pressed up against one another's.

"What's going on, honey?" she asked gently.

He sighed heavily. "It's just... I feel so messed up, you know? I feel so... so... so _dirty_."

She looked at him sympathetically before pulling him into a tight hug, and suddenly he couldn't form a coherent thought. But for the first time in days, this reaction wasn't one of panic. No, suddenly he realised just how much he _wanted_ her, like nothing he'd ever wanted before. He didn't necessarily want to have sex with her, although he was sure it would be amazing, he just wanted _her_ , to _be_ with her, to be there _for_ her - for her to never leave his side, to constantly feel her presence like he had in the last couple of days.

 _You're being stupid,_ he chastised himself. _You only feel this way because she's been here after what happened. You're all messed up. Loser._ He swallowed back against the lump in his throat, shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts. It scared him when he realised how much the thought of committing to her _didn't_ scare him. "I..." he continued, struggling to wade through this newfound information. "I just... I know you're trying to help, and I do really appreciate it, but I feel like I'm not in control and I never, ever want to feel that way again," he said firmly, finding it easier to focus now that he'd remembered what he was actually here for.

"Oh, because he... and you... oh... Chandler, I'm so sorry. I didn't even _think_ of that. God, I can't believe I... wow. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. How could I have expected you to know? Last I checked, you're not a mind reader." She smiled, and he added, half-anxiously, "You're not a mind reader, right?"

Monica laughed. "No, sweetie."

Chandler smiled. Her laugh was beautiful, and had a musical quality to it. "Okay. I'm ready for that bath."


	6. Chapter 6

It had been two weeks. Monica had taken time off work, but her boss was starting to get antsy and she knew she'd have to go back soon. She sighed. She was dreading having _that_ conversation with her already-fragile friend. They'd grown closer than ever over the last couple of weeks, quite probably on account of not properly seeing anyone else. They'd effectively been forced to spend time with each other, but, Monica reflected fondly, it hadn't exactly been _difficult_ to spend time with her closest friend. And that he was, her closest friend - the realisation surprised even herself. She would have thought Phoebe, or Rachel - but no, it was, and really always had been, Chandler. They had... _chemistry_ \- something that just _worked_. She felt an almost overwhelming rush of affection, scaring herself a bit with the sudden desire to hug him and never let go, and maybe even more than that...

Shaking her head to rid herself of those ideas - _I must be sleep-deprived_ \- she turned her thoughts to the much safer topic of her other four friends. She hadn't seen them for God only knows how long, with them occassionally dropping by to inquire about Chandler's mental state or to drop off food, groceries, or other essentials that Monica couldn't leave the apartment to shop for, but never staying long enough for her to find out what was going on in their lives.

She sighed, lingering outside his door. She knew she had to talk to him. He'd need time to process the possibility of being alone, or of one of the others looking after him for a while.

"Mon? Is that you?" called a small voice.

Monica felt relieved - he was upset, that much was clear, so maybe she wouldn't get the chance to talk to him about her work today? - and then immediately guilty. She took a deep breath. She had to do this, and she had to do it _now_. "Yes, it is," she replied, putting on a brave face as she opened the door. "Listen, honey, there's some things we need to talk about, if you're feeling up to it."

"You're going to leave me alone here," he said immediately.

"Wh-what?"

"I heard you talking to Ross on the phone. Your pity was palpable," he spat, with evident disgust.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she said quietly, looking at her feet. She felt terrible. How could she do this to him?

He softened. "Hey," he said gently, pausing until she looked at him. "It's okay. Really. I knew you'd have to go back to work eventually. You can't stop living your life because of _me_."

She went to lie next to him on the bed, and they both turned onto their sides so they could see each other. Monica's heart fluttered unexpectedly at the proximity and she could barely breathe. _Stop being stupid,_ she berated herself, and blinked hard to refocus on the issue at hand. "Are you sure you're okay with this? One of the others could come round and stay for a while. Maybe Joey could come back over, he's home most of the day."

Chandler sighed heavily. "I'm sorry for being so pathetic," he murmured suddenly.

"You're not pathetic, honey," she said quietly, brushing his hair off his face. His hair was soft and silky, and she let her fingers rest there for a moment before pulling back. She really had to stop thinking like this. She took a breath, mentally preparing herself for what she had to say next. "Maybe you should talk to someone. A professional."

"The police?" he asked, immediately defensive. "I already told you I don't want to do that."

"They wouldn't blame you. It's not your fault. But no, that's not what I meant. I thought maybe you could see a counsellor." She braced herself for his resistance, but it didn't come. Instead he looked thoughtful.

"Well, I do want to get better," he sighed at last. "Would I have to leave here? Could they come to me?"

"I think they would, yes," she said, relieved that he was willing to even consider the idea. "But Chandler, this probably won't go away with just a few counselling sessions," she warned. "I don't think it's going to be the quick fix you're wanting."

"I know," he said softly. "But I have to do something."

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

He'd clammed up. He'd tried, but he couldn't even _say_ the word, let alone describe the tumbling whirlwind of emotions he had experienced in the last few weeks. The counsellor had tried too. God, she'd tried. And yes, it had been a woman, because he couldn't _stand_ the thought of being left alone with another man. Not now. But he also couldn't open up to her. He'd joked that he was so used to trying to impress women that he automatically shut off his emotions when around them, but that actually wasn't too far from the truth.

He laid in bed, feeling utterly hopeless. Monica had gone back to work today, as planned, and he was alone for the first time since _it_ had happened. What the hell was he meant to do now? This was the one way back from the dark place he'd spiralled down to, and even this couldn't work. It was hopeless. He couldn't keep a few bitter tears from welling in his eyes. There was only one person he wanted to talk to, and she wasn't here. To her he was probably just a big waste of time.

"Chandler?"

He jerked upright, having not heard the front door open. "Oh, hi Mon."

He smiled weakly. It was as though his thoughts had summoned her.

"Are you okay? You look upset. Oh! Are you _crying_? Honey, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's hayfever."

Monica, now sitting on the bed beside him, scoffed, " _In_ side? In _winter_?"

Chandler sighed. "What are you, a doctor?"

Monica wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and he leaned into her. "What's wrong? You know can talk to me," she said softly.

"I know," he murmured. After a lengthy pause, he admitted, "The counselling session went crap. She spent the whole time trying to get me to talk about what had happened and I spent the entire time making stupid jokes. I'm hopeless at this. I'll never get better."

"No, sweetie," Monica said. "That's not true. You make jokes when you're uncomfortable, don't you?"

He shrugged. "I guess."

She nodded. "Right. So we just need to find someone you feel comfortable talking to. That shouldn't be so hard."

"Mon," he began with a half-smile, half-grimace. "I don't know if you know this, but I've spent many years of my life trying to get comfortable talking to women. It hasn't worked."

"Well, you're talking to me, aren't you? I'm a woman."

"Yeah, and you know what? Unless I talk to you, I don't see myself getting help any time soon."

"So talk to me," she offered without hesitation. "I may not be a psychologist, but maybe I can help."

"Okay..."

 _'Okay...'?_ he berated himself. _This is what you wanted. Just say something normal._ "I... I think... maybe you can." He breathed out slowly through his nose. _There, see? Not much better, but that's a start._


	7. Chapter 7

Chandler had told Monica everything. From the cupping to the nervous jokes he'd made and right down to the smell he hadn't been able to get out of his nostrils since - _everything_.

And she had listened, equal parts shock and horror mixing on her face in a way that might once have been found amusing by the broken shell of a man before her. Not anymore.

Once he had finished, Monica had slowly blinked. "Well," she'd said, and that was all that she _could_ say. She'd felt sick to her stomach.

Chandler, sensing her need to be alone and process, had left her be. Hours later, Monica had come into his room, ready to ask some questions and help him through. But in the end, all she'd said was, "You need to talk to the police." Naturally he'd refused.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

The following week, Chandler was just coming off the business end of a panic attack when Monica came home. She could hear him from the kitchen and called, "I'm home!" but stayed put, knowing he was fully capable of dealing with them alone by now and that he'd call for her if he needed. She didn't want to seem emasculating. After about ten minutes, he came out. His face was red, his hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were wide and contained lingering traces of terror.

"Hey," she said quietly.

"Hey," he mumbled thickly before bursting into tears. Monica wasn't shocked; she wasn't even mildly surprised. She'd lived this enough times over the past few weeks to know how it would go; he'd cry to her, she'd comfort him and suggest he talk to the police, he'd refuse.

Well, not this time. This time she was determined. It had been three weeks, and something had to change. He'd said so himself.

Monica went into action. She led her sobbing friend over to the couch, talking soothingly to him all the while. She sat him down and then sat beside him, wrapping her arms around him as he turned and buried his face in her shoulder. This was as much a ritual for him as it was for her, and as she rocked slowly back and forth he calmed down. "What's the matter, honey?" she asked gently. "What happened?"

"I just... what if this _never_ goes away, Mon?" he asked her for perhaps the hundredth time. "I feel so weak, so... _pathetic_. I don't want to _be_ like this. Why can't I make it all stop?"

"You're not weak _or_ pathetic, sweetie. And it'll go away. You _can_ make it stop. You know what I'm going to say."

"I'm _not_ talking to the police," he said adamantly, his defense made weaker by the tears still running down his cheeks.

"Chandler, I'm sorry, but..." she sighed, carefully reciting her usual weighed-up words: "I can't help you if you won't help yourself."

"Oh, so you think I'm not trying to help myself? 'Cos I am!"

"I know," she soothed. "The bottom line is, you might never feel safe until you know this guy is behind bars. And the only way that's going to happen is if you tell the police."

"I _won't_ talk to the police! Can't you just get that through your thick head and be done with it?" Chandler exploded. Monica stared at him. This was new.

"Ex- _cuse_ me?"

"You just won't listen to me! I've said that I won't do it so many times now that it'd be more economical of me to make a tape-recording so that I'm not just wasting my breath!"

Monica snapped out of her stunned silence, frustration and anger coursing through her all at once. She pulled away from him, standing up. "Hey, you're the thick-headed one! I've done _nothing_ but try and help you, and you just won't be helped! What the hell do you expect of me, Chandler? What do you want, huh? Cos I sure as hell don't have the answer, I'm making it up as I go! And if that's not good enough for you..."

"Oh, so it's all about _you_ , is it?" he retorted, his voice vibrating with barely-contained fury. "I was the one who was _raped_!"

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

Silence.

Monica stared at him. It was the first time either of them had dared say the word.

Chandler took a deep breath and opened his mouth to continue, but Monica beat him to it. Her voice was soft, but Chandler could see the fury dancing in her eyes and wasn't fooled for a second. "If you won't accept my help, then there's no point me being here. I'm moving back across the hall."

Chandler stared at her, panic-stricken for a moment. How would he cope without her? He needed her to help him through this. He _loved_ her, for God's sake. But then his stupid, stubborn pride got the better of him and he snapped, "Fine. I don't need you. I never did! You can go back to your _normal_ life with, with your _infuriating_ cleaning rituals. And I can get back to _my_ life, a life that doesn't involve short-haired crazy women banging around in the kitchen at five in the morning just because it _apparently_ has a layer of dust so thin you'd need a microscope to see it!"

It was a low blow, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. He spun around and stormed to his room without waiting for a response, slamming the door behind him. But the walls weren't thick enough to muffle her hurt sobs, and Chandler wasn't able to suppress the wave of guilt that washed over him. He hadn't meant any of that, but he didn't think she'd forgive him, even if he apologised.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

There was a knock at the door and Chandler quickly opened it, ushering his guests in before closing and locking the door behind them. He didn't want anyone to know they'd been here just yet, especially Monica, but he had to repair the damage he'd done. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he lost that relationship.

They all sat down in the lounge room, him on his Barca-Lounger and his two guests on the couch.

"So, son, how are you feeling?" the elder of the two asked.

"Yeah... okay..." Chandler said, smiling nervously. "So... how do we do this?"

The younger of the two, the woman, replied, "We ask you questions, and you answer them to the best of your ability. Then we follow it up, make sure all the things you say are consistent, interview the perp and, if all goes well and everything checks out, make the arrest."

The man nodded. "So... Chandler Bing, was it? How do you spell that?"

Chandler took a deep breath. That was hardly the hardest question they were going to ask him, but already his stomach was twisting. He felt sick. _You need to calm down_ , he chastised himself. _If Mon thinks this'll work, then it'll work. Now stop being a baby and tell the friendly policeman what he wants to know._ Smiling inwardly - in his head he sounded like he was back to his old self - Chandler begun, " _C-H-A_..."


	8. Chapter 8

The door to apartment 20 opened and all five friends looked up simultaneously.

"Hey, it's Chandler!" Joey said excitedly.

They all leaped up at once, but Monica stayed put. She was just as surprised to see him as they were, but she wasn't sure he'd want to talk to her after their fight, if ever again. She drew in her breath sharply, trying to swallow back the lump in her throat. It had been two days, and that thought still hurt - more than it possibly should.

"Hey, guys," Chandler smiled, looking more like his old self.

"Hey, Chan," Ross said, clapping him gently on the shoulder. Chandler didn't even flinch, Monica noticed. "How are you feeling, buddy?"

"Good, yeah, I'm pretty good. It's great to see you all again."

"Yeah, it's been a while," Rachel commented, giving Chandler a hug. "We've missed you."

"It's been _way_ too long," Joey said quietly, hanging back. He wasn't meeting his friend's eyes, and Chandler looked at him sympathetically. "Hey, Joe." Joey looked up, and Chandler opened his arms. "I missed you too, bud." Joey's face contorted and he launched into Chandler's arms. Chandler patted his back and murmured something to him, and Joey nodded, sniffing. Chandler held him for a moment before moving on to Phoebe, and Rachel put an arm comfortingly around Joey's shoulders.

"Pheebs..." he said. "How are you?"

She wasn't listening. Instead she waved her arms around rapidly a few times with her eyes closed. "There you go!" she said happily, opening her eyes and grinning. "Your aura's cleansed!"

Chandler laughed, and it was a sound Monica couldn't get enough of after the last few weeks. "Thanks, Pheebs."

Suddenly Monica couldn't take it anymore, him playing nice with them when all she could think about were the harsh words they'd exchanged mere days before. She got up abruptly and ran to her room, barely muffling a sob.

**_F•R•I•E•N•D•S_ **

The others stared after her, then at Chandler, who slowly made his way to her bedroom.

"Knock, knock," he called softly.

"Go away, I can't deal with any more fighting," came a tear-filled voice from within. But Chandler wasn't _that_ easily deterred.

He opened the door, went inside, and quietly clicked it shut behind him. Monica was crying into her pillow, curled up on her bed. It was an eerily familiar picture, with only the roles reversed.

He stood silently at the entrance for a couple of minutes, unsure of how to say what he had to say. In the end he just came out with it.

"I called the police."

Monica looked up at him and Chandler watched as her tear-stained face transformed into a sad smile. "I'm so glad to hear it," she said quietly. God, she was beautiful. "And I'm sorry about the other day. _So_ sorry. But I understand if you don't like me anymore. I don't much like myself." She tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob, and she buried her face in her hands.

Chandler went over to her and pulled her up and into his arms, smelling her hair and savouring the feel of her body against his - a major milestone considering how he'd felt about most physical contact only weeks ago. She buried her head in his chest and for a moment he struggled to speak.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered after a moment. "And I _do_ like you. You were just trying to do what you thought was best for me. I appreciate that."

He pulled away slightly so he could see her face. He wanted to be able to gauge her reaction to his next words. She sniffed as she looked up at him with big pooling eyes, and he felt a rush of affection. He'd never loved anything or any _one_ more than he loved her right at this moment. He could have stayed there, trapped in time forever, but he knew he didn't _have_ forever, so he took a deep breath and spoke. "Mon, I need to tell you something. I... I'm in love with you." He paused, and she stared at him in silence, shocked. _Huh, this is going well._ He pushed on through the doubt. "And I need to know... if you feel the same way. Please, just tell me the truth."

She stared at him, speechless. Chandler felt his palms begin to sweat and he shifted nervously. He began to regret saying it and started to move backwards, suddenly desperate to escape her questioning gaze. But her hands were locked on his arms, and she held him in place. She stared at him a moment longer before she released his arms to lean in and kiss him, long and passionate.

Having gotten his answer, Chandler deepened the kiss, running his hands along the side of her face and thinking that this - _this_ was all he would ever need.

_**EPILOGUE** _

Monica came in one night and told him in hushed tones that Frankie had been arrested and sentenced to 8 years in jail. To Chandler it didn't seem long enough, but it was something - and besides, the old bastard might die of old age in there before he could be released. Chandler couldn't help but hope. He needed this feeling of safety.

He went and found another tailor to make him a suit, a lady this time, and Monica went with him, his constant support in hard times. Sometimes he didn't think she realised how much he leaned on her, but other times she looked at him with a glint in her eyes that somehow let him know that she knew. He wore that suit on their wedding day.

Through it all, Chandler still had bad days, of course he did - days when all he could think about was what he'd gone through, and all he could feel was a kind of panicky tightness in his chest that took his breath away - but Monica was there. They stayed home from work together on those days, mostly cuddling on the couch in front of the TV and eating mac and cheese with little cut-up hotdogs.

The counsellor said those days might never go away, but they would get easier to deal with as time wore on. Chandler didn't doubt it. He knew he could tackle just about anything, so long as Monica was by his side.


End file.
